looked back through the bare trees and glimpsed the castle once more. “I believe he did. He would reward me for my service, but since he is still unsure of the extent and nature of his holdings, he is unable to grant me the property outright.” Alex did not envy his lord the task of sorting through decades of English legal documents to account for his hard-won kingdom.
The familiar weight of his knee-length hauberk settled over his shoulders, iron links shining dully in the fading afternoon light. Hugh fastened the plate greaves to Alex’s legs before he pulled on his own waist-length hauberk.
Alex looked over Hugh, Jerome and the six other soldiers his father had granted him when he first pledged his sword to Duke William. They were dressed for battle, eyes gleaming with possibility. A show of force in case Lord Dumont proved difficult.
“Approaching the gates in plain view is rather direct,” Jerome said as he smoothed his surcoat over his mail.
Hugh looked up from fastening his belt. “And unexpected.”
Alex shook his head. “We have every right to be here. No need to lurk in the shadows.”
Jerome lifted a shoulder. “Would you answer if a party of strange knights showed up on your doorstep?”
Hugh chuckled. “One look at us and they will beg for mercy.” He patted his scabbard. “If not, there’s an answer for that.”
Alex raised his hand for silence. “Non. We have our orders. We must give the Dumonts every courtesy until we learn more.” He made eye contact with each of his men. “Do not risk their goodwill because you did not get your fill of killing at Hastings.”
Satisfied with what he saw on his men’s faces, he put on his helmet. “Bon. We ride.” Without another word, Alex mounted his horse and led his men down the hill.
He kept his eyes trained on the Dumont castle. Wooden palisade walls encircled a large number of outbuildings. A huge mound of earth rested in the center, on top of which stood a timber watchtower. The motte and bailey structure seemed out of place in England, where so many lords and men of might made their homes in hillside forts, living little better than animals. The Dumont castle was more reminiscent of those of the homeland Alex had left behind when he crossed the channel. The thought eased his mind only slightly.
The sentries were not ignorant of their advance and had drawn the gates shut well before Alex and his men came within range. No arrows, though. Instead, Englishmen up on the walls argued in their harsh tongue, their mutterings carrying on the frigid air.
With the collective strength of his men behind him, Alex took a steadying breath. Time to see what they faced. He removed his helmet—a sign of good faith—and hailed the sentries in French, the only language he knew. “On behalf of William, Duke of Normandy, defeater of Harold, I, Alexandre d’Évreux, request an audience with Lord Bernard Dumont.”
His voice faded, and only silence was his answer.
From behind his helmet’s nose guard, Jerome gave Alex a look.
Hugh exhaled noisily, his breath a white plume on the air. “Do you think they understand?”
Alex tucked his helmet under his arm and kept his eyes on the men on the walls. “We will find out.”
“We should have strapped that cleric to the pack horse, ill or no,” Jerome said. A cleric had been charged to accompany them to aid in translating their words into the barbaric English tongue, but a fever had taken him two days into their journey, and they had left him behind.
Snow clung to Alex’s hair as the minutes trickled by. His hand closed reflexively over the hilt of his sword. If they were not granted entry, Alex had few peaceful options to fall back on. He didn’t want to disappoint his liege, but if the Dumonts resisted, Alex would not have much choice.
His horse stamped impatiently. Alex had to agree. Time to change tactics. They would retreat a safe distance and decide their next steps.
He was ready to give the order when a new face appeared on the wall. A man with graying temples and the squared shoulders of a soldier. He gave Alex a long, inscrutable look, then gestured to the Englishman next to him.
The gates groaned, then slowly opened wide enough to admit horses and riders single-file.
Alex gritted his teeth. Would he and his men be picked off one by one as they entered the courtyard? He reminded himself their arrival had probably taken the Dumont household by surprise. Perhaps they were simply being cautious—as much as they could within the bounds of courtesy.
Before he forgot his courage, Alex tapped his horse’s sides with his heels. He passed into a strangely empty courtyard for a castle this size, offering up a silent prayer when no swords or arrows confronted him.
Small but stout, an old woman exited the hall and stood in the middle of the courtyard. He brought his mount up short. Her back was stiff, with fear or importance he did not know. He did not miss the keys she wore at her belt.
He nodded to her. “I am Alexandre d’Évreux, envoy for Duke William, soon to be the ruler of this land. You have heard such tidings?”
She finally nodded as Jerome and Hugh flanked him. “Welcome, sir.” Her words were a crude imitation of his language.
Household servants and a few soldiers filed into the courtyard, unarmed and grim-faced. Tense, curious, wary. Since they did not attack them when they had first arrived, Alex felt certain they would not interfere now. It was enough to know Lord Dumont had taught his household to respect his Norman countrymen, even if the man in question was not there to greet them.
“I seek Lord Dumont and his family,” he said to the woman.
Her brow pulled tight. In concentration or concern? “Pardon?” she asked.
“Lord Dumont. I would see him. At once.”
She shook her head, her simple linen headrail brushing her shoulders. “He is not here.”
“When will he return?”
“I know not.”
“What about the daughter? The son?”
She held up her hands. “You speak…too quickly.”
Forcing back a curse, he asked again, slowly forming each word.
She shook her head. “They are not here either. Come, you must be tired. A long journey, no?” Her offer of hospitality was unmistakable despite the poorly phrased words.
Jerome’s raised eyebrows matched Alex’s as he dismounted and let a stable boy lead his mount toward Lord Dumont’s stables.
Alex tipped his head to the servant and smiled. “My thanks to you. We have traveled many days and—”
A high-pitched whinny pierced the air.
“You filthy cur!”
Alex whirled around just as Hugh backhanded a different stable boy across the face, knocking him to the ground.
For one tense moment, silence blanketed the
